To Know Him Is to Love Him
by Neo Genesis1
Summary: Sam attempts to get back into the dating game, only to realize his love life has gotten a little more complicated than he originally thought… aka that time Sam realizes he might be kind of dating almost half of the Avengers team.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: I might be projecting my The Losers feels onto the Avengers crew. My first and probably only MCU fic, but only because Sam is a gem.

**Warnings**: Poly relationships (seriously, Sam had a harem in this and I'm not gonna apologize for it.) Curse words and parentheses abuse. Hints of PTSD.

**Summary**: Sam attempts to get back into the dating game, only to realize his love life has gotten a little more complicated than he originally thought… aka that time Sam realizes he might be kind of dating almost half of the Avengers team.

**Pairings**: Sam/OCs, Sam/Steve, Sam/Nat, Sam/Bucky, Sam/Clint, Sam/Nat/Steve/Bucky/Clint Puppy Piles, Nat/Clint, Steve/Bucky, Tony/Pepper, Tony/Rodey, Tony/Pepper/Rodey

**To Know Him Is to Love Him**  
>Chapter One<p>

Bucky has a habit of popping up out of nowhere.

Sam isn't the best at the whole spy thing. Yeah he's military trained, so he has a pretty good idea of who and what is around him. But years out of the service makes him a little soft.

Not to mention Bucky is on a whole different level of disturbing espionage.

He shows up at the VA Center a few times, sitting stiffly in the back during the meetings. Sam barely recognizes him at first because his face is half shadowed by the hoodie he's wearing.

He doesn't talk. He doesn't move. Sam is hard pressed even remembering him blinking the times he managed to catch his gaze. He slips in unnoticed by everyone minutes after the sessions start, and is always gone before they conclude.

These visits usually coincide with texts from Steve saying he might have pushed too hard again. He means well, Sam knows it. But Bucky's head is in a place even he can't comprehend. The things that were done to him make his stomach clinch every time he thinks of them. And when the memories become too much, Bucky runs.

Somehow, he always ends up around him.

Somehow, he becomes Bucky's safe place.

It's starts at the VA Center and it ends in his apartment. The first time his finds him sitting on his living room futon, in the dark, he damn near has a heart attack.

It gets easier from there. Sam manages to salvage the bag of takeout Tai food he dropped in his quick scramble for his knife. Bucky answers his queries with a subdued 'sorry.' Steve calls, panicked, and he lets him know his bff is fine and maybe might have a thing for spring rolls.

It becomes a regular thing. Bucky shows up, Sam orders out (or occasionally they have breakfast for dinner because that's about the only thing he can't ruin while cooking and you can never go wrong with pancakes and bacon.) He has mostly one-sided conversations with the rare none mono-syllable response from his guest. Bucky always hand washes and dries the dishes (even though he's explained the dishwasher to him one time too many.)

They camp out on the futon and Sam pulls out his dusty first gen Nintendo, because if Bucky's going to get caught up you have to start from the basics (and of course he's eerily good at Duck Hunt and Sam finds himself hiding the gun controller just to save face.)

They eventually graduate to Play Station and Xbox and discover war games are a little therapeutic for him (he's not all surprised that he's disappointed with Halo but chews through several Assassin's Creed games like candy. He tries Metal Gear once, but triggers are just that and those disks soon end up with the same fate as the gun controller.)

Sam often finds himself waking up with his legs entwined with Bucky's after a long night on his pseudo couch and they pretend to ignore it over coffee in the morning, because they might not be 12 anymore but sleepovers are still cool. That's if Buck doesn't go completely ghost by the time the sun rises.

Then he finally lands that date with the VA receptionist.

And that date turns into a weekly thing. Which eventually turns into them stumbling into his apartment, all roaming hands and mouths and beer numbed tongues meshing together and of course Bucky is there.

Of _fucking_ course.

Things get weird after that. Carla leaves in a cab not soon after, a little unnerved but understanding of the 'he's just a friend… with issues' spiel. Bucky leaves right behind her (out the window because what are doors?) and Sam looks down at the tented crotch of jeans and realizes that this is a reoccurring problem. And certainly not just a Carla kind of problem.

::

Bucky doesn't come back.

Sam finds himself on the other end of the sympathetic looks he used to give Steve whenever Buck would pull his disappearing act.

Carla occasionally asks what happened to his boyfriend and Sam is too upset to correct her assumption. (She always gives him a knowing smile when she does though, and he can't quite figure out how to explain that Bucky might not be the _only_ one that ruined their almost relationship. Because his life was complicated before Steve literally ran in to it, and now that he's got Asgardians on speed dial and Stark revamping his wings ─ there's talk of nanos and he's not entirely sure if that thrills or terrifies him ─ and all manners of fallout from S.H.I.E.L.D. being compromised… Bucky ruining their after dinner humping session might have been a good thing… Also, he's not his boyfriend.)

::

But then days turn into weeks, which turn into a month and Sam finds himself really missing Bucky's stupid face.

::

"Just talk to him," Steve says after awhile, "I'm pretty sure he misses you too."

Sam is pretty sure that he's drunk. And he's even more sure that he's pissed off because this was supposed to be a party and all he's been doing is mopping around drinking the bourbon Steve has no interest in.

"He's avoiding me."

Steve gives him a look that he knows is going to turn into a talk once he sobers up. Sam ignores it, while frowning over at the man in question that's sandwiched between Natasha and Clint on a loveseat that's way too small for all three of them (and looking all manners of put out about it, but Clint and Nat obviously could care less. There's a bottle of vodka being passed between them and Sam finds himself being envious of it─ and _wow_ he really needs to get laid.) He has half a mind to go over there and stir things up, but there's no need to drag anyone else into their uncomfortable situation. Plus he's not entirely sure he'd be able to walk without making an ass of himself.

Steve shakes his head while snatching the almost empty tumbler out of his hand. "You two are hopeless."

Sam almost protests his loss but the frown on Steve's face halts all thought of it. Bruce breezes by, dropping off a glass of iced water with a few slices of cucumber in it and Sam downs half of it in a few gulps, totally knowing that's a Pepper thing (because who else is going to add cucumbers of all things to the filtered water?)

Moments later Jane and Darcy saddle up along with a bottle of prosecco and things get all kinds of fuzzy afterwards and no amount of _Captain America's Super Disappointed _looks are going to stop him.

::

The next morning he wakes up with a throbbing head and one half of his face cold from sleep drool. He doesn't know how he got home really, but he does know whoever is ringing his doorbell is about to catch a whole world of hurt.

He stumbles to the door, not even looking through the peephole to see who it is, just unlocking everything, cursing the whole while. The doorknob hits the wall with a resounding thud because he opens it up too forcefully.

And there's Bucky, standing there all apologetic and puppy faced.

"Really?" Sam deadpans, because this is the first and only time the metal-armed asshole has used the actually door and he's certainly not in any headspace to hash out their issues.

Bucky holds up a bag. "I got a Wii. You know how to play Mario Kart?"

Sam takes in a deep breath, looks him over and exhales before tilting his head back to let him know he can come in.

::

Bucky attempts to set the system up.

Sam makes coffee.

Bucky curses in Russian under his breath, his hands tangled with cords.

Sam scraps butter on an un-toasted bagel after a shower.

Steve sends a text, and Sam figures out that he might have set the whole thing up. And he's not even mad. Because Bucky trying to apologize without actually apologizing is something he almost wants to Vine.

Sam completely annihilates him or course, because he's pretty sure he's the undefeated champion of Mario Kart (though he hasn't played against Natasha before, so he won't be going around proclaiming that title to the masses any time soon.)

Somewhere between that and a few ibuprofen pills killing off his hangover and a pizza being delivered, he and Buck are all sweaty and lipped locked on his hard ass futon.

And, though Sam isn't quite sure how it all starts, he figures this might be the best sleep over ever.

::

Also, Clara might have been right about the whole boyfriend thing.

(And on another also, it's Maria that holds the MK Champ award ─ and they all find out the hard way.)


	2. Chapter 2

To Know His Is to Love Him  
>Chapter 2<p>

He's in Target one day, looking for un-scented shampoo when he realizes he's not even shopping for himself.

It stops him short, face still scrunched up in a frown over the ridiculous pricings, and it takes a few moments for his brain to reboot after the revelation.

He's only had one serious relationship in his life and that never progressed past the leaving a toothbrush in the bathroom medicine cabinet stage. There was a time he wasn't used to sharing his space with another person… But then fucking Captain America and his rag-tag group of superhero rejects happened.

Glancing over the items in his red shopping cart, Sam remembers he only came there for more disposable razors. But those stupid chocolate turtles that Clint likes were on sale. And he was really tired of finding his sock drawer being raided by Steve, so Fruit of the Loom was in order. Buck has a thing for canned pastas (Sam chalks it up to years of being a solider. He remembers eating the worst kind of processed crap the first time he was on leave. Years of mess hall slop and MREs doesn't exactly build a discernible palate. And though there are years of differences between their war tours, that's one thing that hasn't change. Also, Spaghetti-Os are really good.) Nat had a preference of not smelling like anything after a shower (because hello, super spy and all) so he finds himself stocking up on fragrance-free everything soap related.

Hence the hair isle.

And yeah, he hasn't even gotten his razors yet. But the cart is full of crap for people he's not entirely even sure he likes (okay, that's a lie)… but sure do spend an unnecessary amount of time at his place, even though his name is the only one on the lease and they all have much better digs at Tony's newly Christened (and totes not overcompensating for anything) Avengers Tower.

"Mother fuc─"

His phone rings, sparing the old lady a few feet away from his curse and sparing him from her judgmental look. He fishes it out of the pocket of Steve's leather jacket and answers without looking.

"_Tampons_."

His frown deepens at Nat's voice.

"What?"

"_I need tampons. The non-applicator kind. Also you need some disposable pie pans. Clint's trying to salvage that roast chicken carcass in your fridge_."

Sam doesn't even know where she's been the past few weeks, but he's pretty certain he locked everything behind him _and_ set the alarm before he left. But what really burns his ass is that he doesn't know how she knows he's shopping.

And this isn't the first time. He may or may not have a habit of checking himself over for the tracking devices she obviously has to be planting on him (honestly he starts to figure it might be an implant… there _was_ that unexplained sore spot on his right ass cheek a few months ago and things got really awkward during his paranoid attempt to get someone to check for him.)

"Okay?"

Nat hangs up without replying, and Sam dutifully makes his way over to both the feminine hygiene and kitchenware isles. Standing in the checkout line he starts to ponder if there's some way all these purchases can become a tax write off.

::

There's a glass of wine waiting for him when he walks in his door. Clint hands it to him while simultaneously snatching a few bags out of his hand. The whole place smells like sautéing onions and garlic and his stomach gives an aggressive rumble. He doesn't realize how hungry he is until then.

And that tampers his irritation a bit. Clint could probably open up his own restaurant if he wanted; he's that good in a kitchen.

Sam hangs up Steve's jacket (he starts leaving it there whenever he's away on missions and Sam figures it's an excuse for him to come back. Not that he's complaining though. And he definitely doesn't enjoy wearing it or misses him or anything. It's just convenient, okay? Shut up.)

Nat's in the living room camped out, bare feet tucked under her with the TV going, a bag of chips on the table and an entire liter of peach soda he already knows she won't share.

Sam dumps the rest of the bags on the kitchen breakfast bar before heading her way, glancing at the flat screen.

"Real Housewives?"

"Yup."

She shifts over on the futon and he settles in next to her while Clint putters around in the other room. He kind of wants to call out to him to find out what's on the menu for the night, but he's not sure if the guy's hearing aids are turned up enough to hear him (he really has no love for reality TV, though Natasha can mainline an entire season of Top Model without even moving) or if he's wearing them at all (and Sam's not sure what to do with the realization that he's comfortable enough around him and in his place to do that.)

An episode and a half in, Clint slinks in and plops down next to him, throwing his arm carelessly around his shoulder.

"Pies are almost done," he says as he leans forward enough to snatch up Sam's almost empty wine glass off the coffee table. "Can we change this crap?"

Natasha tosses the remote his way before getting up to unpack the rest of the Target bags. Clint flips aimlessly through channels before finally settling on the news.

"So," Sam starts. "Pies?"

"Yup, my Aunt Tina's pot pie recipe."

He nods, grabbing his glass back to finish off the last few sips. The weather comes up and they watch silently for a few minutes.

"Temps supposed to drop down tonight." Clint says after a while.

Sam already knows where this conversation is heading and he's shaking he head without even consciously thinking about it.

"No Barton! It's not gonna happen."

Clint's face gets all adorably scrunched up.

"Come one, just for the night? You don't want him to freeze out there, do you?"

Sam tries to pull off the _Unmoving Parental Unit Face_ his mother was notorious for.

"That mangy mutt still has some fur left. It's not going to get below freezing. He'll survive in that… that _thing_ you built him."

(That _thing_ was a thing he salvaged out of some balsa wood, a few nails and the pillows and flannel sheets Steve and Bucky destroyed in some erotic escapade that Sam is still pissed he wasn't there for. Clint claims it's a dog house. Sam is just glad his backyard is surrounded by an 8 foot fence so his neighbors won't complain about the complete offense of it all.)

Nat breezes back through and reclaims her previous spot, this time settling her legs on both their laps.

"It's name is Lucky. And he likes Vienna Sausages."

Sam doesn't ask how she knows this. There's already a bag of dog food that's sitting in the corner of his laundry room for a dumb ass animal that only really likes Clint (who's hardly ever around.) And sometimes Bucky. But defiantly not him. And it's not fun when he's trying to feed him and he's growling over his food bowl (that once was a soufflé thing that his sister got him. He knows he shouldn't be so upset about a dish he's never had a use for, but it's the principle of it all that gets him huffy.) Knowing it's preference for canned meat that isn't specifically dog food related is just a little too much for him.

Clint's hand slides up the leg of Natasha's pajama pants absentmindedly, stroking her skin with his thumb.

"Just for the night? He won't make any trouble."

Sam almost rolls his eyes.

"I think you'd better check those pies. They smell like they might be done."

It's a poor attempt at a change of subject, but Clint doesn't call him out on it. Instead he squeezes his shoulder briefly before hauling butt back to the kitchen. He and Nat share a look when he's gone, and all she does is shrug her shoulders before asking him to pass back the remote.

::

Hours later he wakes up from a nightmare and Nat's standing in his bedroom doorway in just a tee and her underwear.

The sight of her chases away his thoughts of Riley and endlessly falling. He sits up while rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"What's up?" He asks.

There's enough ambient light coming through his curtains to catch her smirk.

"Barton's snoring."

It's a lie. Sam knows it just a much as she does. None of them make that much noise while sleeping. They wake up from it just as quietly as they fall into it (when it actually comes… all of them are case studies for insomnia) unless of course those bad memories start reeking havoc on them.

He figures she heard his thrashing. It's not the first time and won't be the last. But Steve's not there to sooth him back to sleep, so he throws his sheets and comforter back as in invite and she slides in the bed with him.

They spoon, her very well shaped rear pressed hard into his crotch. Her feet are cold, but he ignores that in favor of catching the scent of Clint's favorite aftershave clinging to the space where her shoulder and neck meet. His hand slips under her shirt and he suddenly thinks he really misses breasts.

"You need a girlfriend."

Her voice is all husky with sleep and that really does a thing to him.

He buries his face in her hair and takes a few seconds to reply.

"Working on it."

There's an implication there. But neither one of them call it out.

::

Clint's flea ridden dog is sitting on the side of his bed when he wakes up later.

The dog's owner is also wrapped around him like a koala with one hand shoved down the front of his boxers and it's still one kind of wake up he hasn't gotten used to.

Sam stays awake long enough to hear Nat and Steve's voices drifting in from the kitchen (and wow he's back and he'll be able to properly great him once Clint stops acting like they're attached twins) and there's the smell of waffles or crepes being cooked drifting in the room.

He eyes the maybe lab, maybe retriever mix with narrowed lids and all it does is licks it's chops after an unimpressed yawn, before settling down on his hardwood floors that already have too many scratches and grooves in them.

There's no way he's getting his security deposit back.

And he's gonna have to bomb the place.

::

After breakfast he heads to the shower, only to realize he forget to get his razors.

But he's been making due with Nat's lady Bics for a while now. So he'll live.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes**: I really didn't expect the response I've gotten for this story. This started as just a prompt my brain came up with that I ran with because of severe writers block and my love of Sam. I didn't think it would get this far (it was supposed to be a oneshot) and I really didn't think people would like it so much.

So thanks so much for the reviews and encouragement.

**To Know Him Is to Love Him  
><strong>Chapter 3

The hunt for that guy who once was one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes turns into something more along the lines of 'Holy hell, why does HYDRA have so many sleeper cells?'

Before they start the search officially though, they head to New York long enough for a real Rubin sandwich, do some damage control on the whole dismantling of S.H.I.E.L.D. (on Tony's _and_ Maria's insistence) and for Steve to maybe have his last visit with Peggy.

(Sam only meets her briefly, but apparently it's long enough for her to catch a hint of something going on between the two of them. She brings up the whole fondue story and Sam is able to witness Steve's blush before his super soldier serum kicks in. It's kind of adorable. And he has to catch himself, because crushing on Captain America would be just sad. But just like Carla, Peggy has that look that lets him know he's pretty much denying what is already a lost cause.)

Then begins their Eastern European tour that leaves Sam increasingly uncomfortable and gives Steve a crash course in how much the 21st century has remained the same when it comes to prejudice thinking. When he's not getting mistaken for famous basketball players or Will Smith (and, really? Ignoring the fact they look nothing alike, couldn't they go for someone cooler? Like Denzel or, say, Billy Dee?) he's being not so subtlety reminded that his kind aren't so welcomed.

It's not that he isn't used to it. He got enough of it growing up in Harlem, which was one of many reasons he moved to DC after leaving the service (mostly it was the fact that there was just too much going on there. The noise. The unpredictability of it all. His family trying so hard to get him to be that guy he was before he signed up with Uncle Sam and strapped on a pair of wings. He, himself, trying to be that person and still not wanting to admit that maybe he came back with some baggage that would need some professional help to sort through. And of course the freaking NYPD, because walking around with your hands in your pockets during winter was enough cause for suspicion if your skin had the wrong amount of melanin.)

So yeah, sometimes being the black guy sucks. But it particularly sucked in East Europe.

::

Steve gets a bit intense about it. Often times going off on rants in their too small hotel rooms (that Sam sometimes would have to wait outside for Steve to book.)

Sam's of the impression that it is what it is and that they have more pressing things to worry about, like the slowly cooling bodies of HYDRA agents that Bucky's leaving behind like a trail of bread crumbs. But Steve hasn't met a battle he was willing to back down from yet, and apparently his not so warm treatment was the theater of war he's touring at the moment.

It's a distraction. A way for him to channel his frustrations about Bucky into something productive, even if it does get them kicked out of bars while looking for intel or has them huddling together in the back of a "barrowed" car for warmth because the lady running the hostel they tried checking into said something not so nice about him.

But the tirades start to get a little exhausting, even if he doesn't mind hearing about the things Jones and Morita had to go through (because who's going to be stupid enough to turn down actual anecdotes about the Howling Commandoes? Plus, Steve can talk a lot. So those stories usually take a turn to the shenanigans the lot of them would get up to ─ though Bucky's name never seems to come up during the reminiscing. There's a festering wound there that Sam is slowly and carefully trying to drain because if he doesn't, Steve is just going to rot away in his misery. And Sam cares about him enough to not see that happen. He knows what it looks and feels like. And being one or two steps behind the one person Steve wants more than the breathe in his lungs is taking a toll on both of them. He tries to hide how much he dies a little inside with every dead end and every pilfered file that details the extreme hell Bucky has gone through in the past few decades. But Sam has seen broken enough to know the warning signs.)

Which is why Steve's fight against racism isn't the worst way he can channel his frustration. But when he starts quoting people like Hosea Williams and Assata Shakur verbatim (Sam still doesn't know how he's found the time to read up on them while they've been dodging bullets) he figures things are getting out of hand.

One night in the Czech Republic, after being seated at a table for dinner but not receiving service for half an hour before they eventually just leave (doesn't stop Steve's from voicing his complaints, and at this rate they will never be able to maintain a decent cover because he _always_ goes full Cap mode whenever he gets a sniff of injustice) Sam finds himself really tired of the spiel and pulls Steve, mid-sentence, into the night shadows of an alley before planting one on him. Just to get him to shut up (that's his excuse and nothing is going to change that.)

For such a giant man Steve's oddly acquiescent. His lips go slack against his while his body looses the tension his quick handling caused. And Sam figures that this is probably not being received the right way. Yeah, he's been thinking about kissing him for awhile now (a long while if he's being honest with himself) but this _might_ not be how he should have gone about it.

"Sorry," he says when he pulls back. "I should have asked."

He starts to move the hand gripping the back of Steve's neck away, but is stopped.

"No, it's okay." Steve's cheeks are a flushed, but his eyes are focused, and the hand holding his wrist is firm and sure. "Kind of been working up to doing that myself."

Sam huffs out a little laugh that's cut off too soon because Steve's lips are back on his, insistent and sure this time around. All the frustration that was running rapid through his head melts away as Steve grips the lapel of his wool coat with his free hand and pulls him closer.

::

Come to find out kissing Steve is a really good way of shutting him up, and he employs it often.

Once, after a really intense moment that takes a turn for the best, Steve recounts fondly that Bucky would actually just tell him to shut up. A lot.

"In fact it was one of his favorite phrases," he says with a slight roll of his eyes. "But your kisses might be a better way."

Sam just grins, because he's finally discussing Bucky without a pinched, worried look on his face. And if screwing the hell out of him (or vice-versa) is what it takes to get him to open up, Sam is _so_ game.

::

Ultron happens.

Sam's not there for most of it because his wings aren't functional yet (Stark refuses to hand them over until they are perfect, which is why he and T'Challa are still negotiating over the patent and using vibranium to make them just that much better. And Tony won't be satisfied with the new wing pack until that happens. Which means he's still grounded until further notice. And no, he can not just hop into one of the newly built Iron Man suits as extra backup.)

So he goes back to his empty house and tries to distract himself from the fact that Steve is dealing with something he can't be there for, because he's the only one with a real civilian life. Despite the fact that his face has been plastered all over TMZ and too many social media sites after the whole Insight fiasco.

The VA isn't able to fill that anxious void in his gut (especially now that most of his cases have moved on to other counselors since he and Steve started a marathon on getting their passports stamped as much as possible, so he's mostly just handling group sessions.)

Natasha keeps him updated as much as she can via texts while everything is going down. And when that goes cold, Maria is there with even more vague information.

He and Pepper don't know how to do useless so they bond over it, the both of them worried over boyfriends' (and a maybe girlfriend in his case) as they're off saving the world.

Again.

Without them.

::

Steve eventually comes back, beat up to all hell and it's a look on him that Sam really hates. He remembers him in that hospital bed, unmoving and so torn apart that it was only Erkine's serum that kept him alive.

He's not that bad this time off though, but it's still enough that Sam maybe freaks out internally just a little.

They shower together, hands and tongue and teeth wondering in ways to attempt healing (both physical and mental) and Sam can't even articulate how grateful he is that he's back and mostly alright. So he expresses it by pulling him tighter when the water streaming down becomes too much between them.

::

In the end, it's Natasha that brings Bucky back.

He and Steve aren't able to understand the how and why of it. All they get out of Nat is that she knows him. Knows him a lot more than the info she'd given Steve.

(There's mention of a Red Room and it sounds just as horrible as Sam imagines it to have been once Nat eventually opens up about it. Which only reinforces his belief that they all need constant therapy.)

Either way, it's obvious that Buck and Nat have something going on, with the way they whisper in Russian to each other and how she's the first one he's comfortable enough with to touch and be touched by.

::

A few weeks later they all come to the agreement that he needs a new, bigger bed.

It shouldn't be workable, the four of them meshed together on his queen sized mattress, but there is a level of comfort in the shared space that has their arms and legs tangled more and more together as the night goes on.

It's the best sleep they all get in a long time.


End file.
